Manu S Kurup


Tarmac Labyrinth

Have you ever forgotten a road
only to travel through it
years later?
The old smell of it coming back,
the same branches leaning towards
same shadows designing it
weaving nets
The same emptiness and
Doesn’t it make you reminisce
about the things you passed?
Left behind?
Glanced at and Ignored?
If you haven’t tried to recollect
the stops you made here
and the directions you took
then what difference does it make
for being here?

At least what you can do
is to make a note.
That, you’ll come back
again and again and again
until you see the point where
the roads end…

After that,
There are no potholes.

Yet to Know

The old books in the cupboard
started arising
brown dust
and a familiar smell
when moved.
Will the tall trees near
the post-office
shed memories when Swayed?
Will the wet brown road
down the stream
re-create those foot-steps?
Will the temple-bells
be able to remember the
Laughter it vied with?
Will the smoke-filled corridors
resist the sunlight streaming in
through the wooden windows?

Characters from the Past

When the characters of a novel
danced on my chest in
the bright light of a night lamp,
I decided to let them dance
forgetting the pain.
After all, they were characters
and they had a destiny.
Each of them played theirs out
quite convincingly.
I stared at them, unblinking.
They were familiar people
from my past
Tinkering with my Intoxication
and driving away my
to be alone in the Thunderstorm.
There’s a method in Madness.
Or, so they say.
There’s a method in Loneliness.
They don’t say that.
When the characters finished
their dance, they shed tears on me.
It was cold and sweet.
Then, they disappeared.
I did not blink
For the rest of the Night.
I did not want them to come back.

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[PhD] is an Assistant Professor of English from Hyderabad. He is also a researcher, writer and translator, currently engaged in the writing of a novel in the historical fiction genre. He thinks poetry is the history of humankind.


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